


An Unconventional Double-Decker Bus

by droppingplanets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droppingplanets/pseuds/droppingplanets
Summary: “Sorry to break it to you, but this isn’t ancient Persia.” Lily Evans doesn't look where she's going. James Potter misses his cat. Remus Lupin definitely isn't going on a date. Sirius Black likes Plato and ABBA a little too much. Peter Pettigrew doesn't like his shoes. Mary Macdonald likes the Tate. Set in present-day London.





	An Unconventional Double-Decker Bus

**Author's Note:**

> It's been about three years since I wrote any fanfic at all, wow. Here I am, attempting to get back into the game with a oneshot, combining my affection for AUs as well as my affection for London. I'm hoping to build this world a little more eventually, but school and academics tend to hamper that process. Enough said, go read my terrible writing.

“Bugger it all.”

For what seemed like the millionth time in a period of half an hour, James Potter’s laptop had crashed again. He stared at the black screen, trying his hardest to prevent himself from assaulting the aggravating hunk of metal positioned on his lap. Becoming acutely aware of how pathetic he looked, he shoved the laptop aside with an almost commendable amount of self-control.

 _Need some air_. James made up his mind. To hell with his homework, he’d find some bullshit excuse for McGonagall the next day. Of course, there was very little chance that she’d actually believe him; the one month he’d spent at King’s College London had given him and his strict Comparative Literature professor plenty of opportunity to get to know one another. James had come to the conclusion that it would take slightly more time than usual to win her over.

As he headed to the door of his small but oddly comforting dorm room, a thought struck him. _Should I call Sirius?_

Sirius Black was young and attractive, and not much else. Or at least so he’d immediately assumed. Until the night Sirius stumbled piss drunk into the room shared by James and Remus Lupin – a quiet, yet oddly commanding design student in his first year. It was when Sirius embarked on a rant about the finer points of classical Greek philosophy that James knew there was something extremely odd about this bloke. One thing led to another, and in a matter of ten minutes, James was almost at the same levels of intoxication as his new best friend, while Remus tried to engage Sirius in a political debate. After that night, James believed he had found a soulmate in Sirius – er, well, a soulmate of sorts. He was still the most annoying person in the entirety of London, as far as James was concerned, yet somehow, his cat had immediately taken to him. Remus wasn’t too bad either. 

Despite his newfound camaraderie, he decided against inviting Sirius. He wanted to be alone right now (read: he wanted to go off and sulk under a tree). And if nothing came of that, he’d go crash Remus’s date, which led him to wonder. _Who in their right mind would go on a date on a bloody Wednesday afternoon?_

James locked the door behind him and set off for his adventure. _Some adventure,_ he reflected. Taking long strides, he was out the door of Moonraker Point – which was apparently the name of the building that served as accommodation for KCL students – before he knew it. Oh, this felt so much better. Countless hours spent in front of a laptop hammering away essays was no way to spend the day. 

Spotting a nice-looking tree in the distance, he grinned. Beautiful. What a majestic sight it was. Knowing that he and the tree were destined to meet, he broke into a slight jog and started heading towards it. That’s when he saw a flash of red – the brightest red he had ever seen–

 _CRASH._  

As James lay on the ground, he wondered about the nature of this mighty red beast that had come in his path. No doubt, it was a ferocious monster of some sort, and now there would be a battle.

Wait. 

Not a monster.

A rather angry-looking girl with red hair was dusting herself off, two inches across from him. James perked up, despite the throbbing he felt in his arse. He knew exactly who this was.

“Rhododendron!” he exclaimed with pleasure. 

The girl looked angrier now. “It’s _Lily,_ thank you very much,” she said, focusing her glare on him. 

“Oh, of course. Lily. Yes. Lily. How could I forget?” He pushed himself off the ground. He’d encountered Lily Evans once before, when he’d nearly set her backpack on fire. Holding out a hand to her, he smiled at her vaguely apologetically – at least, he hoped it was apologetic. It seemed to work, however, as her eyes softened and she used the support to help herself off the ground.

“You’re very destructive, you know that, Potter?” she sighed.

He had to admit that he was, as he thought back to the several fires he had inadvertently started over the course of his seventeen years. Of course, he did have an ego to protect.

“You should meet my cat,” he said. He missed Juniper. He only saw her on the weekends when he went home, although he was secretly plotting to kidnap her and bring her into his dorm room.

“I don’t like cats,” said Evans. James gasped. Who didn’t like cats?

“That’s outrageous. Everyone likes cats,” he said confidently.

“Yes, well, not me.” 

“You’re a bit mad, then, aren’t you, Evans?”

“Says the bloke who started a fire in McGonagall’s class,” she shot back. He grimaced. That hadn’t been one of his finer moments.

“I’ll have you know that the ancient Persians worshipped fire!”

“Sorry to break it to you, but this isn’t ancient Persia.”

“I ruddy well wish it was,” he grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re so odd, Potter, do you know that?” James said nothing.

 “Do us all a favour and keep your destructive tendencies to yourself, yeah?” she said, her eyebrow raised. Eliciting no response from him, she started walking away. “See around, Potter.”

“Bye, Evans,” he said, running a hand through his hair. So much for that.

But as for now, he had a tree to attend to, and a cat to kidnap.

* * *

Remus wasn’t sure what to expect when Mary Macdonald asked him if he wanted to go to Tate Modern with her. He was a sucker for pretentious art, and she knew that. The three weeks they’d spent as partners in Flitwick’s Modern Art class had been hugely entertaining and had resulted in a discovery of the fact that the two shared a mutual love for hot chocolate, Terry Pratchett novels, and the Welsh band _Catfish And The Bottlemen_. Hell with it, why shouldn’t he say yes? It wasn’t like it would be a date.

“It’s totally a date,” said James, when asked. Remus groaned. 

“There’s no way it’s a date. She would have told me if it was a date,” he insisted.

James shrugged. “Whatever you say, mate.”

Thus, Remus spent a good half an hour prior to his so-called date in a state of insecurity. Upon receiving a text from Mary requesting him to meet her at the Southbank Centre, he made a calculated and mature decision to shove his thoughts aside and go take the mickey out of some modern art.

One Tube journey later, he exited Embankment Tube Station. Despite having spent an entire month in London, the city continued to amaze him – especially the riverside. Having spent his childhood in a small town in Wales called Hay-on-Wye, being thrust into a life in central London had proved to be a bit of a contrast. He reflected upon this as he made his way across the Golden Jubilee bridge. Of course, having James Potter for a roommate made things a lot more interesting than they would have been otherwise. 

The October air was chilly. Remus wrapped his coat around himself a little tighter and continued on his way, smiling at a busker who was belting out a version of _Norwegian Wood_ with an acoustic guitar strapped to his chest. He vaguely wondered as to how the man’s fingers hadn’t gone numb, especially considering how long he’d been playing for.

Finally, having made it to the other side, he spotted Mary on a red bench shaped like a slide, the wind giving the impression that her dark hair looked like it was making an attempt to escape her face. She noticed Remus approaching and jogged towards him. The two hugged briefly.

“It’s _fucking_ cold, Lupin,” said, oddly cheerfully.

“Wait till December,” he said, grinning back at her. Mary shuddered. “Come on, then, let’s go make fun of modern art.”

“Oh, _wow,_ that’s what I’ve been waiting for _all my life_.” 

“Stop mocking me.” 

“Stop being mockable.”

“Mockable isn’t a real word.”

“You’re not a real word–” Remus suddenly broke off and whipped around. That voice. He knew that voice. But where was it coming from?

_“Dancing queeeeen, young and sweet, only seventeeeeen…”_

Of course it had to be him. Remus broke into laughter. This was too good to be true. Mary noticed what he was looking at and soon was in fits of laughter as well, at the sight of Sirius Black some ten feet away from them, a mic grasped tightly in his hands and a speaker blaring out his version of the ABBA hit _Dancing Queen._  

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I’m here all week!” he announced as Remus and Mary headed towards him. 

“Lupin, Macdonald, what a pleasant surprise!” he cried.

“Never knew you were so talented, Black,” laughed Mary.

“Very convincing falsetto,” agreed Remus. Sirius curtseyed.  

“It’s an art, you see,” he said happily. Remus was inclined to agree. 

 _"YOU SOUND LIKE MY CAT!_ ” came a voice from the distance. Sirius waved it off. “Pish-posh, they’re just jealous.” 

“Of course,” said Mary, still laughing. “I should recruit you for my band. We’d be fantastic!” 

“Sorry, Macdonald, I’m a solo act,” he said, turning back to the speaker positioned behind him. “And I’m afraid I have to get back to work now. Southbank Centre is about to hear my fantastic rendition of _Staying Alive_.” 

“Fair enough. See you around, Black.” She gestured at Remus that they should be on their way. About thirty seconds later, a voice rang out in the distance.

_“WELL, YOU CAN TELL BY THE WAY I USE MY WALK–”_

* * *

Peter Pettigrew was exceptionally bored. The only reason he’d agreed to visit the Tate with his sister was because she’d agreed to buy him lunch afterwards at Founder’s Arms, and that wasn’t an opportunity he was going to pass up. But now, he was starting to wonder if it was worth it. The two hours he’d spent at the museum had resulted in a fairly intense game of Clash Of Clans on his phone – until, of course, the phone battery died and he was left with no choice but to wander the museum akin to a Viking warrior charting unknown territories.

Modern art was so weird. He was convinced he could pose as a flamingo in the museum and people would consider him to be an exhibit. Art students were also very weird, he reflected. Economics students were so much simpler. His class at KCL was full of fairly normal people – which, admittedly, made it that much more boring.

Chancing upon a bench, he took the opportunity to regain some lost energy. A full minute later, he felt like screaming. This was immensely boring.

Peter made up with his mind. Hell with it, it was time to enjoy himself a little bit. Spotting an empty corner in the room he was, he made a snap decision. Quickly removing his left shoe, he jogged over to the corner and placed it there. Brilliant. Modern art. Time to see how many people would fall for this.

He wasn’t disappointed. In a matter of minutes, a large crowd had gathered around his shoe, each person staring at it as if in deep contemplation. A tourist even pulled out a DSLR camera bigger than Peter’s hopes and took a photo of the new addition to the exhibit. 

Peter was delighted. He couldn’t believe so many people had fallen for this. It was then that he heard a vaguely familiar voice. 

“Oi, give the poor lad his shoe back.”

Oh hell.

* * *

 “And that’s how we met Peter,” finished Mary, laughing, as Peter smiled embarrassedly.

 “So you made an arse out of a bunch of tourists, good on you,” said Lily, breaking into a laugh as well. Two days after her encounter with James Potter – not that she was thinking about the encounter at all – her roommate Mary Macdonald had offered to introduce her to the new friends she’d made. The three were seated in a local pub that evening, awaiting the presence of self-proclaimed ABBA-phile Sirius Black.

"Listen, I’ll be right back, I need to take a leak,” explained Peter and disappeared before Lily could blink. What an odd bloke.

Mary disappeared within the next minute as well, leaving to take a phone call (“Sirius, how the hell did you get lost?”), leaving Lily seated by herself, idly stirring a glass of lemonade. The music playing in the pub seemed oddly familiar – was it a Eurovision winner? She spent a couple of minutes racking her brain to figure it out when she heard a voice. 

“Lemonade in October, Evans, are you bleeding mad?” 

Of course it had to be James Potter. What were the odds? 

“I’ll have you know I have a fantastic immune system,” she replied, watching Potter take a seat opposite her at the booth.

“ _Go_ on, _sit_ down then,” she said sarcastically. He smiled pleasantly.

“Lovely attitude, there. Bet it really pays off, looking at all the friends you’ve got,” he gestured around the empty table. 

“Clearly pays off for you as well, seeing as you’re spending your evenings stalking me.”

“Oh, this was purely a happy coincidence, Evans,” said Potter. Lily snorted.

“Your version of a happy coincidence is crashing into me like a double decker bus.”

“Oh, _get_ over it, Evans, it’s been two days!” 

“What if I had lasting injuries?”

“Well, do you?”

“Er, no, but that’s not the point!” 

“Your _face_ is the point!”

Lily was suddenly aware of the fact that the two were being watched by Mary, Peter, and a new appearance whom she assumed to be Sirius Black. 

“Maybe if we get them some alcohol, they’ll start snogging!” Sirius stage-whispered.

“Maybe if we get you some alcohol, you’ll piss off,” shot back Lily, too riled up to give a toss about the fact that she was insulting a complete stranger, albeit a very handsome one.

“Better yet, he’ll start talking about Plato,” Potter added on. This statement attracted a few questioning looks. “It’s a long story,” he said by way of an explanation.

“So this is Evans?” Sirius sidled into the seat next to James. “I like her. She’s cooler than you, Mary.”

 “You’ve known her all of _two minutes_!” she cried indignantly. All she got was a wink. “You’re a git.” 

“I know.”

As the night went on, Sirius decided to put his fake ID to good use. Peter and Mary were a little hesitant with their alcohol, but they took to it with enthusiasm after a certain point. Potter and Sirius seemed to be veterans, and by around 11 PM, they took it upon themselves to provide the pub with a rousing duet of _Ain’t No Mountain High Enough_.

In hindsight, it was probably the duet that got all of them forcibly removed from the pub. Or maybe it was Lily’s goat impressions.

* * *

“Never again,” moaned James. “I’m never drinking with Sirius fucking Black ever again.”

This statement elicited a pillow being chucked at him by Sirius fucking Black himself. “Shut up, you prat,” moaned Sirius in a similar tone. “Ow. No more alcohol for me. Ever again.”

Peter Pettigrew nodded in agreement from his corner of the room. Remus wasn’t sure exactly when he’d agreed to become a caretaker to his friends with alcoholic tendencies, but he’d taken on the duty with a commendable amount of enthusiasm. He’d also decided that this would be the only time that’d be fulfilling this role, and to ensure this, he’d taken the liberty of stealing Sirius’s fake ID.

What a way to end a month.

“Remus?” James called out. “It was totally a date.” His face seemed to have the vague semblance of a smirk.

Remus’s ears went red. “Shut up, you prig. Go fantasise about Lily.”

“Evans is an odd bird,” mumbled James. “But she’s cool.”

So much for maintaining his dignity.


End file.
